Life in the Sun
by sunbetweentheleaves
Summary: A forgotten sister and a damaged woman, struggling to survive life separately. But for Edith Crawley and Celia Jackson, why limp alone, when together you can run? Tom Branson/OC, Edith Crawley/...
1. Chapter 1

_**I own nothing.**_

* * *

"Edith darling, I do apologise for my bluntness with the utmost sincerity." Celia announced, as she swept into the parlour of her friend's aunt, Lady Rosamund Painswick, of London. Edith looked up from her magazine, startled at the sudden appearance of the dark haired woman before her, though before her question could be put to words, the elderly butler shuffled through the doorway.

"Miss Celia Jackson to see Lady Edith Crawley, milady."

"Thank you Perkins- a bit late, maybe?" Came the response from the startled blonde.

The butler only responded by looking confused in an extremely unhelpful manner, and inching through the doorway with as much speed as a snail on the gin.

"What bluntness?" She asked, turning back to her work colleague.

Celia and Edith had been working together at the magazine for three years now, and had become fast friends over that time. Celia displayed an exotic character; a well travelled woman in possession of wisdom beyond her years, and experience in all manner of scenes (a lot of these were a subject the Dowager would certainly not approve of, to say the least) with a fondness for exuberant clothes of her own creation, thrown together with beads and rings which she had collected on her travels, and while many people promptly proceeded to toss their noses violently in the air and march away from the Bohemian looking woman (a savage who most likely boiled potions in her cauldron below her flat in the East end whilst listening to the wireless), some individuals saw her value, which was how she came to be of the position of standing like a patchwork angel in the London home of the Painswicks.

"Well I haven't said it yet." She replied good naturedly, gliding elegantly towards the chaise lounge Edith was reclining on, and pushing her friend's feet aside, allowing herself somewhere to perch.

"And what might your intentions have been, barging in here and leaving poor old Perkins in the dust?"

"Everybody leaves Perkins in the dust- he's one hundred and ten." Edith watched in fascination, as Celia slid the hatpin from green felt cloche, and lifted it away from her dark bob, smoothing it over with a gloved hand.

"This is nice- is it new?" Edith asked, prying the had from Celia, and holding the magazine she had abandoned beside it, comparing the drawings of models with slim necks and fabulous hats, looking all too like Mary for her own comfort.

"Rather."

"Where ever from? It's marvellous!"

"The milliner a few doors down from me." Edith lowered the hat and magazine in thought, before turning back to her friend.

"Isn't he a gentleman's milliner?" She asked curiously.

"That was meant to be a bowler. He isn't very good at his job." Edith could not help but supress a smirk in a particularly unsuccessful manner.

"Where does the bluntness come into play?"

"Now." She answered with a matter of factual air. "Edith dear, I am in dire distress." As she said this, she turned to face Edith, and for the fist time she noticed a desperate look in her friend's hazel eyes.

"What ever is the matter?" She asked in genuine concern, sitting up straighter. Glancing about herself nervously, almost as though something would pop out from behind a potted plant, Celia shook her head vigorously.

"Not something we can talk about here. I need tea."

"I can ring for-"

"I need tea now." Celia insisted, a slightly manic look appearing on her face.

"The kitchen maid can bring it up- she's a fine sight faster than Perkins."

"I need different tea. This tea tastes too nice- I need bad tea. Come and get some bad tea with me."

"Celia, what on earth-"

Evidently Celia's deep-seated desire for unsatisfying beverages over came her, for she leaped off the footrest and found Edith's hand, ripping her away from the comfort of the padding and causing her to stumble slightly. Edith found herself being forcefully tugged through the house to the cloakroom, where Celia pulled a coat and hat from their places and flung them at her hastily, ripping her hat that Edith was still holding from her grasp and jamming it onto her own head clumsily.

"We're going out!" She cried over her shoulder, as she bustled Edith down the front steps, in a blur of mint green trousers, a straight waisted blouse printed with mad moss green terracotta coloured Aztec style designs, a coat of a similar shade of brown, and a green hat matching the green of her blouse. A selection of tinkling and jangling beads and heels clicking on the pavement busily as she stretched out a gloved hand and hailed a taxi, masked Edith's enquiry as to what on earth was she doing and did she need a good slap because she seemed slightly hysterical and needed to be calmed down, though when she repeated this in a louder tone, Celia had unceremoniously bundled her into the back seat and informed the driver that while she could not pay him extra for a fast ride, she could give him another sort of bonus when they arrived providing he could park around the corner, leading to a swift journey through the crowded streets of London.

"Celia, what in the name of God are you doing?" Edith shrieked, in some distress as to both her friend's actions and the speed with which the clumsy old car was navigating the crowded streets (not a patch on her, but then that was an empty country road, this was not).

"I know about you and Gregson." She came the hushed reply. Edith frowned indignantly.

"So what? How did you find out, anyway?"

"It thought it odd that when you came in to submit an article, he'd draw the curtains in his office. So I found a chink in the blinds and had a look, and what do you know."

"What of it?" Edith replied, attempting to retain a mask of indifference, but succeeding only in feeling even more panicked on the inside. Who else could know? What if Celia had told anybody? _What if her parents found out that she'd all but lay with a man on a desk? _

"What has he told you about his wife? Everybody knows he's married, I'm assuming you wouldn't if-"

"I know that she's in an- an asylum." Edith faltered slightly at the use of the harsh word, but continued. "And that she had been for fifteen years and that some people may think it wrong-"

"Do you love him?" Celia's calm, quiet tone interrupted. Edith blinked slightly at the question.

"Well of course I-"And yet somehow, the words caught in her throat and refused to come out.

"Edith darling, I'm very sorry about this…" Celia trailed off as the car pulled to a halt. Clambering out, Edith found themselves in the opening to a busy street from a small alleyway, watching preoccupied passers by jostle each other madly to get ahead of everybody else.

"Oi!" The driver called, leaning across the passenger seat to address Celia. "Youse offered me a bonus!" Celia blinked, stared at him for a moment, before sighing regretfully.

"Damn." She muttered. "Must I do that…?" Grunting in annoyance she turned to Edith. "Just a mo- I did promise. Just wait here… you, er might not want to look back."

* * *

Celia clambered reluctantly into the car, where the driver looked at her expectantly.

"Are you married?" She asked busily, opening her small purse.

"Nope."

"Engaged or sweetheart?"

"Nope." He replied dopily. Glancing sideways at him, she sighed inwardly. She really must stop this- but after so many years relying on her own wits, it was difficult to stop getting exactly what she wanted, and had become a subconscious part of her routine. Snapping her purse closed, she leaned over and kissed him searingly on the mouth- his breath tasted like tobacco and pork pies. A repellent greasy combination. They broke apart, and he stared at her, stunned, as she worked her brown leather glove off her right hand. She made her usual effort to push all thoughts of loving, gentle hands doing what she was doing right now- slowly and seductively picking at the buttons of her blouse from her mind and allowing it to fall open, tugging at the straps of her camisole (thankfully modern fashion had hoisted the horrid garment they called the corset from it's ranks) and shivering as the cold air of late October attacked her exposed breasts.

"Try anything and I'll scream. Let me do it." She instructed threateningly. He, however, did not listen and reached out a tentative hand to touch her, which she slapped away. "I said let me do it." She snapped, which seemed to get through to him, for surprise did not register on his face as she reached over and began stroking the twitching organ between his legs with an un gloved hand.

She's learned to do this when she turned fifteen- had worked her way up from the ruin her father had caused of her family by using her assets to get her way, though now she was not too far out of pocket, it had unfortunately become more like habit than necessity. Plucking the handkerchief from his breast pocket, she unbuttoned his trousers, and pulled his engorged member from the gap in his underwear. As she began jerking it up and down with cover of the handkerchief, she considered her situation. While she was regretful in admitting to herself that she felt no shame in what she was doing, as his breath grew ragged an his eyes grew dark and hard with pleasure, she herself obtained none.

The days when actions such as this would have made her face flush, her knickers wet and her breast swell in delight had filtered away, leaving her alone and pleasuring a taxi driver out of habit.

Damn- she'd been attempting not to think about that so much.

A warm, wet feeling of the linen square sitting in her palm indicated that he was complete, and snapped out of her drifting thoughts.

Ignoring him as he spoke, she bundled up the handkerchief and placed it in the glove box of the car, before righting her clothes once more, and stepping from the car casually. Edith stared at her, eyes wide with horror- she'd evidently seen what had happened.

"Tips for your wedding night." Celia announced in a tone that suggested that the topic was not one for a discussion. "But now we have tea rooms to investigate, and I'm sorry darling, but this will not be at all enjoyable."

* * *

Through the window, the sight was as clear as day. The way he embraced the hand of the woman he was sitting with across the tea shop table was the way he had held her hand, and whispered words of love and affection in her ear.

And maybe the story about his wife was true, it probably was. But as far as Edith was concerned, two girlfriends were for more than the necessary amount.

"Edith dear?" Celia's voice asked softly from beside her.

"How did you know…?"

"I was walking past and saw him. I came to get you because I knew that you two were…" Edith shook her head vigorously- her hat unpinned in the earlier rush slipping to the side.

"Not anymore we're damn well not…" She trailed off, surprising herself with her with her strong language. "What do I do?" She asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "How do I look him in the eye?"

"By being every bit as fabulous as you can." Came the reply from beside her. "Watch, and look indifferent."

Doing as she was bid, she observed as Celia marched up to the tearoom window, and rapped her knuckles smartly against the glass beside Gregson. He looked startled, even more so when Celia mouthed the words 'your brain has taken up residence in your backside', before his eyes flitted to Edith and widened in alarm.

Despite the crushing feeling of betrayal and sadness, there was something oddly satisfying about holding the power over him and watching him squirm.

"Do you have any gaspers, Ce?" She asked, turning to her friend, who produced the well kept cigarette case of an occasional smoker. They both lit the long, thin brown cigarettes, and stood, puffing away before the window looking extremely indifferent, behind which Gregson looked as though he may be ill from sheer nerves. Until he moved to exit the tearoom.

"Damn." Celia cursed, stepping into the street and waving her arm about madly for a cab, and Edith found herself once more being roughly manhandled into the back of a car which sped off hastily, upon Celia's instruction (who was careful not to offer any kind of reward, Edith noticed), leaving a harried looking Gregson to shrink into the distance.

For most of the journey, the pair sat in silence, puffing away on the gaspers in contemplation, until Edith spoke.

"Ce, I can promise not to judge you, whatever you tell me," she began hesitantly, "But how did you know what to do… before… with the driver?"

Celia looked around in surprise, her rounded eyebrows rising closer to her straight fringe; smoke curling elegantly from the stick between her fingers.

"I've had experience in those areas." Was the sullen reply.

"With whom?"

"With… Derek. I told you about him- I hope you remember for I shan't be repeating it."

"No." Edith agreed, not wishing to listen to the story again- once was horrid enough.

"And once with another man in the respectable sense, when I was in Bangalore." She continued, puffing thoughtfully, careful not to inhale. "And a few other times since then… for fun."

"Fun?" Edith spluttered in shock.

"Well it has to have something going for it- and it is fun! If it weren't, nobody would do it, and we'd all die out within years."

"But using it like a leisure activity! Like a game of tennis, or horse riding?"

"You'd be surprised how similar those activities actually are." Edith looked on in horror. "But you know- you did it with that bastard."

"Almost- don't use that word!"

"Fine, you almost did it with that b-a-s-t-a-r-d."

"Ce! Well, yes, I did, but that was different! I loved him!"

Celia raised a solitary thin eyebrow.

"Well, I thought I did." She amended hastily. "But nevertheless, the point I'm trying to make is-"

"Oh, there's a point! How reassuring."

"Oh, hush, you. The point I'm trying to make is that-"

And it all came tumbling out.

Ever since she was a little girl, the three Crawley sisters had aspired to be a rich man's wife- to live in a house with large drawing rooms, and dress in finery for dinner, and produce heirs for his title. As soon as they were able to walk, they had begun learning to embroider, sing, play piano, read poetry, run houses and order dinner from the kitchens, living and breathing simply to obtain a life similar to that of an Austen novel. And out of the three, one had made the marriage of dreams, one had flung years of training aside and married 'beneath' her, and one was still loitering at a crossroads.

"Celia, I ask only one thing of you." Concluded thoughtfully, as she passed notes to the driver, and stepped neatly from the cab. "I want to live. I want to drink champagne till I pass out, and smoke whenever I want, and wear short skirts and have fun with men from all walks of life, because this country has seen too much horror for me to do anything else than _live_, and I want you to teach me how." Edith busied herself with stomping out her cigarette, in an attempt to hide the blush that was creeping up her cheeks at such a confession. When the task had been thoroughly completed to an extremity, she looked just in time to see Celia's astonished face melt into a plotting grin.

"Oh, Edith. You are going to be absolutely spectacular."

Edith grinned nervously.

"About damn time."

* * *

_**Hello there. This is not my first piece on this site, however due to its inappropriate content I have been forced to create an alias to allude snooping elders.  
This story shall feature four key themes:  
1) Edith's journey of self discovery and happiness.  
2) The exploration of a heavily damaged character (Celia).  
3) Happy ending for those who have been denied that privilege by Mr Fellowes.  
4) The 1920s culture, politics and lifestyle.**_

_**Mature content will be included, however I will try to keep it as smut-less as I can, and am merely experimenting for the sake of the story.  
**_

_**Please, favourite, review, follow, REVIEW (criticism is a treasure!)  
sunbetweeentheleavesXx**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**I own nothing.**_

* * *

"Alright, what's the plan?" Edith asked, as Celia swooped into the Painswick's home with her usual smooth elegance.

"The plan, my dear, is to party. Come on, upstairs, let's have a look at your dresses."

"…my dresses?"

"Oh yes. Come on, pip-pip!" The two scuttled up the stairs, and into Edith's bedroom, where Celia immediately began rifling through Edith's London wardrobe.

"What do you mean, party?" Edith asked, sitting on her bed, "how will that help me?"

"You'll meet people, do some dancing, and dress up a little bit- but not in any of these."

"What's wrong with them?' asked Edith, affronted.

"Nothing at all, darling. Not for society dinners and family affairs." Here an evil grin alighted the features of her best friend, causing Edith to worry. "But for a club? No, no."

"_Jazz_ club?" Edith asked, aghast.

"Oh, it'll be fine!" Celia assured airily. "Come on, back to my place. You can borrow a dress of mine." The eccentric woman crossed to the door, rattling with beads, the folds of her long blouse swaying as she walked. "Bring your most comfortable pair of shoes and some jewellery."

The sounds of Celia retreating down the stairs faded, and Edith turned to her wardrobe.

In the smallest valise she owned, she hurriedly packed a pair of sensible copper coloured evening shoes with an open toe and slim strap, the stout heel providing appropriate balance and ability to walk, as well as dropping some pearls that she was not terribly fond of into a velvet bag, and some earrings for good measure.

At the door, she paused, and gave a small giggle.

Packing her future in a suitcase with some pearls, a pair of sensible shoes and pack of quality gaspers in a suitcase, ready for an adventure.

* * *

Now quite understanding why she had never before been to Celia's flat, Edith picked her way through old newspapers with circled columns, discarded clothes, scraps of old material, battered designs on old envelopes and an empty whiskey bottle under the sofa (coupled with what looked suspiciously like a pair of gentlemen's undershorts) and cleared off a mound of clothes and settled herself on the creaky, but otherwise clean armchair.

"Right!" her friend announced, returning to the room with an armful of dresses, before rushing out again, and then reentering with a large, full-length mirror.

"You pick out the ones you like and try them on- I'll make us a pot of tea."

While Celia pottered about in the kitchenette, Edith pointedly drew the curtains and did as she was bid, eventually settling on a drop waited peach evening gown, embroidered with golden thread forming fleur del is patterns around the neckline and hem, which ended-

"Celia! My knees!"

"What about them?" her friend cried, tumbling back into the living room at her friend's panicked shriek.

"You can see them!"

"Oh, only when you walk. If it bothers you, I can take the hem down, won't take a mo." Edith stared in horror for a long moment, but finally shook her head, and letting a small smile flitter onto her face.

"No thank you. I'm going to do this, I'll do it right." Celia nodded, and grinned the worryingly plotting grin once more.

"That's the spirit!" she encouraged, returning to the kitchen and back into the room a moment later with a pot of tea and two mismatching mugs.

Once Edith had been equipped with tea and forced into a chair, Celia began fiddling about with her hair, muttering, cursing, pinning and braiding, before finally gesturing that she should look in the mirror. Rising from her chair, Edith crossed the room back to the mirror, and gasped in admiration.

"Oh, you absolute angel!" she cried, smiling appraisingly at Celia, who beamed modestly.

Her hair was twirled up high, around her cheekbones, and the string of pearls that she had haphazardly thrown into her bag was now braided pleasantly into her hair- and it looked far nicer complementing the strawberry blonde curls than they ever did around her neck.

"Come on, get ready to go, I'll just get changed…" picking through the pile of garments on the floor, Celia chose one and changed while Edith averted her eyes, spreading out her possessions on the sofa and packing the more important ones into her hand bag, before putting on her shoes. By the time she was done, Celia had wriggling into a straight glittering dress of sea green and a similar blue, ending well above her knees, but the fine sliver fringing fell to just below. Around her neck went the solitary strand of clear coloured glass, a silver armlet slid up the slender digit, and similar silver band of the most intricately woven metal Edith had ever seen rested on for forehead, the centre larger than the rest thinning to a fine line that disappeared beneath her short hair.

"Oh, don't you look lovely!" Edith remarked, and Celia flashed her a small smile as she applied her dark lipstick. "Where ever did you get that headpiece?"

"Hm? Oh, a friend gifted it to me for my birthday last year."

"Who?"

"Why do you sound so suspicious?"

"Because most of your friends either consist of organised criminals or members of the aristocracy!"

"Very high aristocracy, in this case." Was all Celia supplied, as she shrugged into her evening cape. "Very high. Come on, let's go!"

Her friend strolled from the room, and Edith paused to laugh for a moment, shaking her head fondly and following behind.

* * *

"I feel exposed." Edith murmured once more, sipping tentatively at her champagne.

"Oh, hardly. You look lovely."

"That's all very well and good, but what if one of Granny's friends sees me and tells Granny that I'm showing all of London me knees!" Celia eyed her friend sceptically, glancing about the quiet club.

"Where we're going, Lady Mop's hardly likely to be lurking about the corner. Oh look, there's Fredrick!" she waved over the man who had just entered, and her swooped down, kissing both of Celia's pale cheeks.

"Hullo, my darling! What brings you here tonight?"

"I'm introducing Edith to the clubbing lifestyle."

The aforementioned Fredrick, with his slicked black hair, impeccable evening dress and spotted scarf turned now to Edith and gave her a friendly wink.

"Fredrick Matherson. And you, ravishing lady are?"

"Oh! Edith. Edith Crawley."

"Lady." Celia supplied, sipping her champagne and giving her friend a sideways glance.

"Oh! A Lady! How jolly posh!"

"Not really… In fact-" but she stopped when she saw his joking smile, and she soon joined in Celia's laughter.

"So, what are you delightful ladies doing here this evening?" he asked, sinking into the two chairs opposite theirs across the low table, his legs crossing elegantly over the arms.

"We're club spotting." Celia supplied, causing Fredrick to lean forwards in glee and Edith to blink in confusion.

"Oh, don't worry, darling," Fredrick said, seeing her befuddled expression, "I shall endeavour to explain the madness of your little friend." Celia shrugged modestly and turned to Fredrick, who was leaning forwards, he clicked his fingers and signalled for a martini from the waiter, and then turned back to Edith. "Celia here has a very lovely system of partying of an evening. Firstly, she charms the owners of clubs like these into letting her drink for free- she _is_ good at that-"

Celia felt Edith's sharp gaze immediately on her face and she took on an air of indifference, as Fredrick extended his hand.

"Clever little hands, has our Celia. Of course she hardly does that anymore, and even then barely when her words don't work. Then she befriends the top notch society like me-"

"Have you heard the phrase 'to blow one's own trumpet'?" Edith asked cheekily.

"Oh, if I could, life would be so simple."

Celia giggled and Edith stared blankly, until Celia leaned over and whispered the secret to every great party girl's success in her ear, and she felt her cheeks flush vermillion.

Chuckling at her friend's ignorance slowly being stripped away, Celia reclined comfortably in her low arm chair and contemplated her evening.

Would she find a new man friend for the night?

When she got home, would another of the bed beams crack? She didn't mind the sofa, but it was awfully small.

That is… if she could crawl out from the collapsed mattress without help.

But the bit she dreaded the most, the bit she could not stand, was the morning.

When she was little, she used to share a room with her siblings, and then when she grew older and the Jacksons were ejected from their home (her father had gambled away their money, and her grandmother had kept the children's trust fund tied up tight), the girls had top and tailed on one mattress, and the boys on the other.

Then when she met Derek and moved away to attend an army training program, she had slept either in a dorm room with fellow students, on in Derek's bed.

And in the army, the three of them in the one tent huddling together for warmth, followed by years of travelling- a room in bustling hotels, the guest rooms of the wealthy and influential, the bed of the occasional manipulator of the female body, and then she came home.

And then there she was. Her empty, lonely flat.

She'd tried to find a lodger.

It had never ended well.

She tried to sleep with the wireless on.

The unit had exploded.

She'd even tried sleeping in a bed with a kitten for company, but the thing had scratched the life out of her pyjamas.

Finally, she gave up, and embraced the one thing she hated more than anything else in the world.

The silence.

Also, the owners had wanted the kitten back.

* * *

After some hours of sitting in the dimly lit sereneness of the stylish deco bar, Fredrick had declared his desire for an adventure, and promptly proceeded to haul she and Edith from their chairs in a most undignifying manner indeed, and dragged them out into the ever busy streets of London.

After swinging briefly through Belgravia to pick up a friend of Fredrick's (a handsomely chiselled man who, if found wearing less clothing and standing on a pedestal, may have been mistaken for a Greek deity- if not for his features, then for his skin which may have been carved of marble) who caused Edith's jaw to unceremoniously drop- until his hand found Fredrick's backside and the jaw clamped shut again.

Finally, they emerged through a darkened doorway into the dimly lit room, writhing with bodies and an inescapable beat.

Offering Edith a dance with the beautiful man (Garron, it seemed), Fredrick immediately grasped Celia's waist and twirled her dramatically into the crowd of dancers.

"You little rascal- trying to corrupt a young, innocent thing like me?" she joked, with a wink.

"Oh yes dear. Such a fresh little thing like you is exactly what I want to stick it in." the couple laughed gaily and continued the dance in silence, carving their way around the floor to the front of the stage where they could see the band. "Edith certainly is a charming little thing- why ever haven't I seen her about before?"

Celia considered.

"She was respectable. We're in the process to making her thoroughly un-so."

Fredrick giggled.

"Do you think she has what it takes?" he asked.

"More than she knows."

* * *

Edith awoke in the morning with a fuzzy mind.

Too much champagne. Slowly she rose to a sitting position, and examined her surroundings, as her eyes adjusted to the light.

Celia's living room. On what appeared to be a pile of blouses- and possibly a cat.

The sound of keys scraping in the lock alerted her, and her senses rushed mostly back- but the intruder (with keys) was only Celia, looking as ragged as Edith felt.

"When did mornings become so bright?" her friend grumbled, tossing down her cape and bag.

"Before they invented champagne. Where were you?"

"I made some friends in the band."

"Oh."

Stretching, the woman tugged off her headpiece and placed it delicately on the hall stand, before, without a concern in the world, shimmying out of her crooked gown and letting it drop to the floor, searching for a robe on the mountainous sofa.

"How did you find last night?" She called over her shoulder. Edith moved from her little nest like a phoenix out of the ashes- though with a rather ungraceful stumble thrown in.

"I don't remember much…" Edith admitted. "Did you- Celia, did you dance on Garron?"

"I think so."

"It wasn't very dignified."

"I expect that might just be the case."

"And I…" she squinted through her fuzzy head. "I drank champagne from the bottle, didn't I?"

"Oh yes. And you ate shrimp out of the hand of Lord Wentworth."

Edith tensed.

She had eaten food from the hand of a close personal friend of her father's?

A sense of shame and panic immediately began rushing down on her, and her breathing quickened. Celia, evidently having seen her expression, hurried over to stand before her friend, in a swirl of patterned black oriental silk.

"Oh, you mustn't worry! He daren't tell your father, and just think how thrilling it would be to watch him squirm the next time he's at yours for dinner!"

Edith's reaction to this statement was cut off by a knock on the door, heralding the arrival of a gaspy man with a red face and adolescent moustache on a thirty year old man.

"Miss Celia Elouise Jackson?" he simpered.

"Yes that's me."

In response, he extended an envelope.

"My, hnn, condolences."

And with that he scampered away.

Standing in the doorway for a moment, holding the envelope patterned charmingly with the man's greasy fingerprints, she turned to look at Edith, eyebrows raised.

"Open it!" she encouraged, curiosity seeping up within her.

Watching as Celia's brow furrowed, she heard the crinkle of paper, and murmur of "solicitor?" and finally a startled gasp.

"Celia?" Edith asked, worried. He friend turned to look at her with wide eyes.

"It's my grandmother. She's dead."

* * *

_**Thank you so much for your feedback! It was very encouraging :)**_

_**I hope you'll bear with me as I drag through the Edith-adjusting-to-the-wild-life before we get to the real action.**_

_**Please review, favourite, follow... review? Xx**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**I own nothing.  
**_**_(PLEASE READ: I give you the new chapter! In which Celia appears horrifically superficial and Mary-Sue _****_ish. That's sort of how it came together and I beg of you lovely readers to overlook that!)_**

* * *

"Bloody hell!" Celia cried incredulously, as the large, decorative house loomed above her. It reminded her sharply of a palace, a wedding cake, and a grimy train station all in one building, sitting grandly on immaculate and heart warming rolling grounds.

"May I assist you, madam?" Enquired a rumbling voice, taking her entirely by surprise and causing her to leap about a foot in the air. A tall, imposing man was standing beside her on the gravel driveway, his journey to his current positing masked by her awe.

"Oh, I do apologise," she said, pressing a leather teal coloured gloved hand to her mouth in shock. "I do hope my little outburst did not offend you." The man's expression did not alter in the slightest; he simply nodded his large, red face, his impossibly pointy eyebrows quivering vaguely.

"Certainly not, Madam. Many of our visitors often become overwhelmed at the slight." He glanced proudly to the stone exterior, before turning back to her. "May I help you with your bag?" He asked. She stared at him for a long moment, before realising that he must be the butler (stupid! Of course he was- just look at that atrocious livery) and passed him the handles of her battered cardboard suitcase feeling rather foolish.

"Please don't call me Madam- I much prefer Celia." Glancing back at him, the implication that he may address a guest in this house by their Christian names seemed to have offended him a great deal, for he looked very much as though he wanted to tackle her to the ground and give her a good slap right now. "Though I'm sensing you wouldn't be even remotely comfortable with that, so please do call me Miss Jackson." He relaxed slightly at this, though his face still looked like thunder. She couldn't help but feel not as confident, she had dressed rather conservatively to be accepted as Edith's friend, in her usual traveling clothes, with her teal cloche, decorated by a golden beaded leaf stitched to the side, above the brim, her white woollen drop waisted coat with wide sleeves, buttoned with large white clasps, a short straight skirt which showed her knees when she walked and teal blouse, covered by amber coloured beads around her neck. Large paste golden rings with large faux gems sat on top of her gloves, and brown leather boots resided on her feet. Gulping nervously, they made their way through the tall oak doors, where Edith immediately intercepted her. She really did look much more alive than she had when they had last met. Her clothes were more modern, and her hair was neatly arranged in a marcel wave. Her eyebrows had been thinned with tweezers, and her lipstick was a shade darker, none of which distracted form her smile.

"Celia!" She cried, embracing her. "How wonderful to see you again! You must tell me everything about the past few months! Oh you're out of mourning! Settled back into your Grandmother's house? How was your journey?" She asked, tucking Celia's arm into the crook of her own.

"It might have been quite monotonous had my carriage companion not had been so fascinating in his design- goodness! This house really is splendid- though terribly big. You could fit hundreds of working class homes in here, I'm sure." She cried in wonder as they entered the impressive hall.

"That's enough of that." Edith warned seriously. " Or Papa and Mama won't take well to you at all, and then our plan will be truly ruined." Celia was about to agree, when an elegant voice addressed her from the staircase.

"Now, you must be Miss Jackson, who has come to steal away my younger sister." Turning, she saw a woman of ivory skin and raven hair standing on the impressive stairway, a powerful aura surrounding her. Her gentle movements as she came closer to their level, and sweeping manner of walking both indicated that she could own any room she entered, and the manner that suggested that she was in some way superior to others meant that this could be only one person.

"Lady Mary, I presume. Please, call me Celia, Miss Jackson makes me sound rather like a governess."

"A perfectly respectable profession."

"Yes, terribly respectable and every part as boring."

"Celia." Hissed Edith threateningly, and she realised, with a jolt, that she'd just made a slight mess of their plans. "We'd love to stay and chat, but I'd better show Celia to her room."

"And practice your scheming, no doubt." Lady Mary added wryly. "Do call me Mary." She added to Celia, who smiled politely, before watching the woman that Edith had feuded with for years saunter off into another room.

"Good job." Edith muttered, driving a pointy elbow into Celia's ribs.

"I'm sorry! But it's true- how positively gut wrenchingly snore enticingly _boring_." Edith opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment, the door a few feet away from them which had been so cleverly disguised to look like the rest of the wall burst open and a man walked out.

"Right, you, upstairs." Edith snarled, gripping Celia's waist and spinning her around, pushing her pointedly up the carpeted steps. "Don't you dare speak!" She called out behind her shoulder.

"Stop manhandling me!" Celia snapped, wriggling in an attempt to get free.

"What's the matter, do I smell?" Came a playful tone from where they had stood, and Celia stopped dead. Edith sighed in a harried manner, and released Celia, turning back to the man.

"All I ask is that you don't speak, Tom. You're a smart man, surely it can't be that difficult for you." Turning around to face the same direction as Edith, her breath hitched slightly. The man standing on the floor below them (evidently was Irish, the warm lilt of his rough accent tickling heart) was incredibly handsome, if one was interested in understatements. From where she stood, she could see soft, pale eyes of an alluring blue, a strong chin and cheekbones, and dark golden hair swept to the side. His form was muscular, and his lips were so inviting, that she felt simply as though she could collapse to her knees.

Edith had called him Tom. He was the brother in law.

The widower.

Immediately, she shifted her thoughts of running her fingertips over his stomach in the height of passion aside, and kicked them for good measure.

"Hello there!" She greeted politely from behind Edith. "I'm Celia." The man observed her for a long moment, frowning as all his previous playfulness vanished, and her smile wavered slightly.

"Tom Branson. The pot sticking political chauffer." Celia nodded awkwardly.

"I'd just been told that you were Edith's brother in law, but if that's your preferred preface, I'm happy to use it." This seemed to surprise him, but his rudeness had made her cross and she wished to disallow him the chance to make immediate amends. Turning to Edith, she tugged on her sleeve and said:

"Come on, I feel more conservative than an entire hospital board and you seemed perfectly eager to show me my room- shall I change?" Edith blinked at her for a moment, her face blank.

'Of course, come on. The others are probably dressing for dinner, so you'd better hurry."

Pointedly ignoring Mr Branson, she nodded and allowed Edith to lead her up the stairs.

"I told them you wouldn't need a maid- I figured you'd hit me if I didn't." Edith called over her shoulder, as Mr Branson's stunned face disappeared behind the corner of the bannister. The rest of the journey was enveloped in silence, until Edith closed the door of Celia's beautifully blue and white room behind her.

"What," she asked in a measured tone, "was that?"

"I'm sorry!" She apologised pleadingly, before adding "again."

"Celia!"

"I know, I need to stop irritating members of your family!"

"They're never going to let us flat share if you keep making them want to slap you!"

"I know!"

"But never mind Tom. He's been lonely since Matthew died- Mary and I are his only friends here, and Mary's become more and more reclusive, while I'm hardly ever here." Celia nodded sadly, setting down lightly on the mattress. She remembered all too well the day that a distressed Edith had appeared at the office in mourning wear and declare the terrible news that her second brother in law had passed away.

"How awful…"

"Indeed. He's become a bit bitter, with Matthew and Sybil… he hasn't visited his brother in months."

Not really knowing how to respond to this, Celia simply nodded. After a moment, Edith dispersed the sombre mood by smiling in a forced manner and announcing that they had to pick a dress for Celia for dinner.

* * *

When Celia walked into the drawing room before dinner, the only person in there was-

"Mr Branson." She acknowledged, seating herself in a chair.

"Miss Jackson- I'd like to apologise-"

"It's forgotten, and if you call me Miss Jackson again, I'll stab you with a fork." He seemed slightly surprised by this, but nodded all the same.

"I might in spirit, but I daren't in front of his lordship. Shall we adopt this practice?"

"Certainly, pot sticker." She replied cheekily, causing him to grimace.

"So, you work with Edith at the magazine?" He asked, in a desperate attempt at conversation.

"Yes I do."

"And how is it?" He asked, somewhat eagerly, sitting forward in chair.

"It's rather oppressive. Gregson says that I'm too vocal or to adventurous or too liberal with my idea, ruling out the corresponding political section, travel or fashion."

"What do you write?"

"Gardening." She groaned. After a moment, she noticed that the corners of his mouth were twitching slightly in amusement. "What?" She asked.

"You write the Gardening section?" He repeated.

"It's not funny!" She cried, crossly.

"I haven't worked as a journalist in three years- part of the deal when I came to England was that I couldn't write for the media, and you, who are free to do as you please, write the gardening section of a woman's magazine."

"Well, it's hardly hard-hitting, but I enjoy it well enough- though travel would be nice."

"You travel?"

"Since the war ended. I was in France and figured that I had money and a passport no job, and why not?"

"That certainly sounds very reasonable." He agreed, his tone respectfully sombre. She smiled, and despite herself could not help but admire his reservation to speak out about why she had been in France at that time. She was about to open her mouth to respond, when the door opened, and a plump man with a kindly sort of face wandered in. He appeared to be in some kind of stress, for he did not notice either of them at first, simply paced up and down a few times muttering profanities under his breath, before spotting them watching him for the corner of his eye and started.

"How long have you been there?" He asked, in a distracted fashion.

"Since you began pacing like a record at the end of the side." She replied. He looked at her for a moment, and blinked.

"Who are you?" He asked, startled.

"I'm Celia- Edith's friend." She offered, getting to her feet and extending a hand. His face immediately cleared and took it whilst smiling politely.

"It's a pleasure to meet you- we have much to discuss, yes?"

"Quite."

"I see you've met Tom, our tame revolutionary." She nodded and smiled, while cringed slightly on the inside. "Every family should have one." While he laughed, Tom looked quite displeased, though hardly surprised, which, for some reason, made her incredibly cross.

"I don't understand." She stated, cutting his laughter short. "You liken him to a domesticated animal and derive humour from it. Seems rather cruel, if you don't mind me saying, milord." He mouthed at her for a brief moment, before his jaw snapped up and he nodded impassively, while Tom's eyebrows lifted in surprise, though after a second his mouth turned up at the corner.

"The Dowager." Rumbled the butler from the doorway, and a moment later and elderly woman glided into the room, stopping short when she saw Celia.

"Goodness, these men's clothes are getting more feminine by the day." She remarked drily, before squinting for a moment. "Oh dear, I do apologise- your haircut lead me to believe that you were a man." And with that she sat pointedly on a sofa and motioned for Carson to begin passing around cocktails. Slightly stunned, she turned to look at Tom questioningly, who she found to be having some difficulty in restraining his laughter.

She replied in the only way she could- by poking out her tongue at him.

This however only succeeded in causing him to collapse into a fit of silent mirth, much to the unexpressed concern of the Dowager who merely shrugged and helped herself to a colourful cocktail. While Lord Grantham went to sit by his mother, Celia retrieved a drink and took a healthy gulp, before returning to her chair as Tom calmed down slightly.

"It gets funnier the more you see it happen." He explained.

"Evidently." She replied impassively, though as she buried her face in taking another sip of the colourful beverage in her hand, a small smirk battled its' way to her lips.

* * *

Once decked out in her favourite evening gown of drop waisted olive green silk and a glittering diamond brooch sitting on her breast, she made her way downstairs to the drawing room, to find everybody else there- including Tom and Celia locked away in deep conversation. Though Celia's back was to her, a small twinkle that Edith had not seen in a remarkably long time- indeed, it had very nearly been almost forgotten, the period of its' absence had spanned over such a time was currently present in Tom's eye. She made note of this as she accepted a cocktail and went to greet her family, whom she had barely spoken to that day.

"Tell me dear," Granny instructed in hushed tones, gesturing for Edith to come closer. "That girl, Miss Jackson- is she…"

"Yes?" Edith asked, worriedly.

"A Sapphic?" Edith blinked, taken aback by her grandmother's knowledge of life.

"No- she's just very liberal."

"Oh, that's reassuring."

"Granny, even if she was, she'd still be a person." Edith reprimanded quietly, in a measured tone.

"No, no, I understand, but Tom appears to be very…"

"Happy?" Edith asked, casting a brief look over her shoulder. "I do believe you're right."

"And it would be a shame, could it not lead to something more."

"I'm afraid she's not exactly the marrying kind, Granny." This seemed to stun her grandmother for a moment, whose jaw dropped in surprise slightly.

"Good heavens- why ever not?"

"Because _she_," answered Celia, contorting in her chair to face them fully, "has experience in that field and has found it to rather unsettling."

And then the unthinkable happened. Something which hadn't happened since her days as a fresh young debutante.

Granny blushed in embarrassment.

Edith watched her parents exchange a dumbfounded glance, and a slight nod before catching Mary's eye, her sister giving her a meaningful look.  
One step closer to freedom…

* * *

All through dinner, Edith watched in trepidation as Celia was grilled by her parents about their flat plans and her past. About inheriting her grandmother's Belgravia home and trust money, the loss of her dear Granny Jackson. Everything seemed to go quite smoothly, save for when William entered carrying the meats, and Celia upset her water glass.

"Have we met?" She asked bashfully, as a harried Carson set about mending the turmoil. In response, William's eyes narrowed in thought.

"I believe so, Miss. Couldn't say where, I'm afraid."

The rest of the meal had passed slightly awkwardly, as both Celia and William skirted around each other uncomfortably.

"Celia, I adore your dress- you must give the details of your tailor." Cora gushed in a gap in the conversation. Celia smiled widely and Edith sighed as she sensed the incoming ego.

"I design and create all of my clothes, milady." Cora's eyes brows rose in surprise, but she said nothing to question the authenticity of this comment.

"That must save a lot of money."

"It does, rather, and I can be as creative as I choose."

"Well, the fabric is exquisite- wherever is it from?"

Celia glanced down at the navy blue come deep aqua shot silk, which, after much examination on Edith's part, was embroidered with fine golden paisleys in an intricate and stunning design. Beginning at the low rumpled neckline and falling to just below her knees, Rose had positively squealed when she saw it.

"Calcutta, milady." Cora frowned.

"Can you order from there?"

"No, I picked it up when I was there."

"Shall we go through?" Granny asked impatiently, from beside Robert. As they all stood, and the ladies filed out, Cora fell into step with Celia, taking her arm and trapping it in an iron grip.

"It sounds like you've had some amazing adventures." The American remarked.

"I suppose I have- they were very enlightening." Edith glanced about nervously as the conversation unfolded, completely aware of exactly where it was going.

"What made you decide to travel?" Cora asked curiously.

The familiar explanation tumbled out, as the ladies seated them selves about the drawing room, Edith nervously accepting a cup of tea from Alfred.

"Good heavens, why were you in Paris in eighteen?" Granny asked in concern. Edith paled as Celia frowned.

"I wasn't in Paris. I was in Flanders."

The words hit the room strikingly, as though a piano had been strung up by its' wires and dropped pointedly on the floor again.

"Flanders?" Mary asked, stunned. "What were you doing there?" This seemed to trouble Celia slightly, for she shifted awkwardly and cleared her throat.

"I was a driver with La Toupie." She murmured, sipping uncomfortably from her cup. From the corner of her eye, Edith noticed William tense slightly, the briefest of brief glances at his face showed the wide eyed and paled skin symptoms of both panic and recognition.

"How very brave of you." Cora remarked in a condescending tone, "That must have been an experience and a half! With whom did you work?"

"Er- the Lancashire Fusiliers-" William's tray trembled and he let out a terrified squeak, upsetting a cup from its' saucer, while a look of dawning comprehension appeared on Celia's troubled face.

"It's you!" She cried, leaping to her feet and setting down her cup.

"Yes, Miss." William all but whispered, staring attentively at his feet.

"It's whom?" Granny asked unhelpfully from her armchair.

"And- and you're all right?" Celia asked, striding forwards and gripping William's chin, forcing him to look at her, and revealing to everybody the small smile growing on his lips.

"Thanks to you, Miss." Celia looked as though she could cry, despite the mammoth like grin dazzling on her features.

"Oh, I cannot find the words to tell you how positively heart warming it is to meet you- oh my goodness." Her voice broke to a whisper, and water began welling up in her eyes.

"I never got the chance to thank you, miss."

"I ought to be thanking you!" She cried, taking his hand in both of hers and shaking it heartily.

"Might you enlighten us?" Granny asked impatiently, jerking William and Celia from their little bubble.

"Oh, I am so sorry," Celia began. "But you see-" and here was where she finally burst into tears of apparent joy, allowing a tray free Alfred to aid her in sinking into a chair in distress.

"I beg you pardon," William began tentatively, "but when Captain Crawley and I were wounded in France, Miss Jackson-"

There was a hysterical blubber from Celia, earning a confused glance from all but Edith.

"Call her Celia or she'll get very mad." Edith translated warmly. William turned to Cora questioningly, who nodded in approval.

"Miss- er- Celia climbed into the crater and pulled both of us out- she tied us to her back and climbed out on a rope with shell fire all around-" here he paused, looking slightly green at the memory. "And drove us to safety, except there were delays, and she nursed both of us for several hours-"

Another blubber from the hysterical Celia.  
"It was nothing, do shut up you silly old so and so." Edith repeated, to Mary's apparent amusement.

"And saved both of us from catching pneumonia and…"  
Edith cast a nervous glance at her mother, whose face was alight with a horrified awe. Here he trailed off and coughed awkwardly.

"Why don't you fetch some salts for Miss Jackson, William?" The Dowager commanded politely after a lengthy pause. The footman who appeared to be crumpling beneath an anxious weight of nerves gladly did this bidding and scampered off hurriedly, avoiding eye contact with all but his shoes, leaving them in Alfred's startled hands.

At this point, Mary's gaze caught Edith's and the sisters exchanged a trampled sigh of defeat.

A slap around the face for the so-called freedom, then.

Sinking deeply into her armchair and allowing her eye lids to flutter shut, while Mary and Cora attempted to help the hysterical Celia (Edith allowed herself a moment of amusement at Celia's expense- realising that it was taking a great deal of self control not to have driven these do gooders away with a swift elbow in the gut and have downed a barrel of whiskey within these few short minutes), Edith groaned internally.

* * *

The cigarette smoke curled elegantly into the air, every puff creating a brand new plume of swirling patterns, culminating into nothingness, save for the bitter tang of tobacco in the air.

Edith only ever smoked when she was upset in some way.

And currently she was frustrated beyond all comparable frustration.

Hurried footsteps shook her out of her dark thoughts, and the sudden appearance of the kitchen maid startled her somewhat.

"Daisy?" The girl squeaked and dropped her bowl, the contents splattering in all directions, and the sound of enamel on flagstones could be heard as the dish rolled into the corner of the meat store courtyard.

"Oh, milady, I do beg your pardon, didn't see you there!" She cried, in a panicked tone as she scampered about to fetch the bowl and knelt down, picking up stripped bones.

"That's quite alright, Daisy. Here, let me." The two quickly began retrieving the contents of the bowl and hurriedly tossing them back in.

"Are you alright, my lady?" asked the little Sous Cheft timidly.

"Not really, no." she said, with a sigh. "Mine and Celia's plan to get a flat in London in crashing down about us." Daisy raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Why?"

"Oh, my parents already disapprove heavily of Celia after one evening. Their approval is at a loss." Daisy paused slightly.

"But you'd really very much like to move?"

"Indeed I would." Daisy shifted, uncomfortable with the words she clearly wished to speak. Edith sighed and decided to help the poor thing along.

"Do you have any advice, Daisy?"

"Well…" she began unsteadily, "Not m-meaning any disrespect, milady, but… d-do you really need their permission?"

This stumped Edith for a moment.

Did she?

Was she planning to simply live off her parents forever, until she married? Or was she going to be independent, and have fun?

And with that, her mind was made up.

"Thank you, Daisy. You cannon know how you have helped me." Edith said, and the small face before her broke out into a happy beam.

* * *

_**Thank you to all who reviewed, followed and favourited! Xx Sorry it's been so long, I've had exams, and we all know how that goes!  
Please drop a review to let me know how you feel about this so far!**_


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